


I'm Alright, Really

by Liz_Jarvis



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-26
Updated: 2011-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liz_Jarvis/pseuds/Liz_Jarvis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair's thoughts about the past 3 years. Set during Murder 101, season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Alright, Really

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own 'em, not making any money from them!
> 
> Spoilers for all seasons

"We need to get this kid on Prozac…."

Ha, Simon. If only you knew.

How else do you think I can function after the amount of shit I've been through in the last few years?

Yeah, that's right. Neo-hippie witch doctor punk Blair Sandburg is on the hard stuff. No natural herbal crap this time, hoh no.

You know, I was doing fine for a long time. Even after Lash and Maya I was coping ok. A little St. John's Wort and daily meditation for a few months pretty much filtered out any negative thoughts.

After that "incident" with Golden the docs wanted to put me on something. Guess they were worried I would have some sort of breakdown after coming so close to meeting my maker. I smiled politely and spieled off some bullshit about seeing the department shrink and "I'll be fine, thanks very much". I wasn't about to start shoving more drugs down my throat after my little adventure in the parking garage.

I didn't really start thinking about my own mortality until Janet died. And Incacha. And Sweet Roy. My run-ins with Chapel and Galileo probably didn't help much either. Neither did Clayton Falls for that matter. Thinking that you're about to die from Ebola kinda dampens any happy vibes you got going.

But even through all that, it was OK. I could cope. After all I had Jim! Strong, stoic, Sentinel Jim. Jim could always tell when I was in one of my "moods" and would whisk me out for a night on the tiles, or a JAGS's game, or even out into the country for a weekend of fishing. Best buds and all that.

But even that went to hell in a hand basket after he read the intro chapter of my dissertation. After I had categorically told him not to. He then had the audacity to get pissed about it. And let me tell you, Jim does pissed better than, well….let's just say when Jim is pissed, he is PISSED.

I honestly thought that was it. Dissertation, over. Friendship with Jim, over. Life, over.

And then I died for real.

The funny thing, if there could actually be anything funny about the whole situation, is that looking back it feels like it happened to someone else. I mean, I know it was me, I have the hospital bills and the scarred lungs to prove it. But I can't quite connect with it. In fact, I hadn't felt able to connect with things for quite a while even before Alex and all that shit. Memories feel like they belong to some other guy and even the present doesn't feel completely real. And don't even ask about the nightmares.

OK, well, I'll tell you. After everything that has happened over the past 3 years, all the gunfire, blood, gang wars, hospital visits…..the only thing I dream about is Lash. One of the first traumas's to happen to me. I thought I'd coped with it so well. I wake up screaming, shaking, convinced that he didn't die when Jim shot him and he's standing over my bed stretching a yellow scarf between his hands and he's moving closer and closer and I can taste the pond water already…..

And that wasn't even the worst one. No. The worst one was where it was Jim who was tied up in that dentist chair with the scarf round his neck and I was the one pouring foul tasting liquid down his throat…

So, yeah. Guess I'm not as "sorted" as I thought I was. Especially when Jim caught me out on the balcony having the mother of all panic attacks and thought I was about to jump over. I wasn't, really. At least that's what I told him. Don't think he believed me though as the next day I was in the psychiatrists office obfuscating like I'd never obfuscated before to convince her of my sanity. Maybe I was trying to convince myself too.

And of course Jim "overheard" the whole conversation. Can't hide nothin' from a Sentinel.

We haven't told Simon yet that his annoying little police observant is on anti-depressants. It'll take me a good couple of months to get used them and stop feeling like I'm bouncing off the walls. Which I guess is what I'm doing anyway if Simon's comment is anything to go by.

\- - - - -

As we leave Simon's office Jim puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently.

Surely it's going to get better, right? Right…..?


End file.
